


Heads or Tails

by liodain



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: (Not Quite) Goodbyes, First Kiss, M/M, Superstition, implied alcoholism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-07
Updated: 2020-05-07
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:02:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24047872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liodain/pseuds/liodain
Summary: The war is over and the 7th Legion, along with Shaw, is returning home.
Relationships: Flynn Fairwind/Mathias Shaw
Comments: 16
Kudos: 123
Collections: Fairshaw Week 2020





	Heads or Tails

**Author's Note:**

> It's Fairshaw Week!!  
> Day 1: [Ropes](https://twitter.com/liodain/status/1256928130209628160)  
> Day 2: [Day Off](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24008704)  
> Day 3: [Drink](https://twitter.com/liodain/status/1258002088954597379)  
> Day 4: Superstition  
> Day 5: [[Flynn/Tandred interlude](https://twitter.com/liodain/status/1258548965307371525)]  
> Day 6: [Scars](https://twitter.com/liodain/status/1259157957662695425)  
> Day 7: [Storm](https://twitter.com/liodain/status/1259979706990026760)

Flynn spotted Shaw on the harbour front, slipping easily between the press of bodies gathered to see what was left of the 7th Legion home. The early light caught his hair and set it afire like a beacon. How he was so successful a spy Flynn would never know; he drew the eye like a flame drew moths. Flynn followed him through the crowd and towards where the _Wind's Redemption_ was preparing to set sail, elbowing folk out of the way to keep up with him. The cursing he left in his wake was likely how he heard him coming, though too late to start exercising a bit of discretion now—he turned before Flynn could catch his arm. 

"Captain," Shaw said, hefting his pack up his shoulder.

"Wind's freshening," Flynn said, which wasn't quite what he'd planned to say. He dipped a hand into his pocket, fidgeting with its contents. "First of the ebb soon. Not long 'til you're off."

The permanent furrow between Shaw's brows deepened. "Did you find me just to make small talk?"

"I'm working up to something medium-to-large. Got a moment for me, Master Shaw?"

"I can find one." Shaw said this without hesitation, not even sparing a glance to gauge the status of the ship and its industrious deckies. He tipped his head towards a narrow side-street, away from the thronging harbour crowd, and strode off in its direction, presumably trusting Flynn would follow.

Flynn gave him a moment to set his pack between his feet, then held out the penny he'd warmed in his hand. Shaw, still frowning, took it between finger and thumb. The morning sun struck him at an angle; the eaves of the building cut a diagonal shadow over his face. 

"What's this?" He turned it over, inspecting it, then shot Flynn a dry look. "Payment for services rendered?"

The unfinished hearthstone games; the daily mid-morning back and forth over, and about, the coffee; the bickering over Flynn's 'improperly formatted' reports; his repeated failure to get Shaw to come out for a pint or four—all that, and Flynn might miss the precise eyebrow-raise most of all. "I expect change. No, no, it's for, er. For luck."

"Luck," Shaw repeated, and Flynn realised with a sinking heart that of course Shaw wasn't the kind of guy who believed in luck. He was more about the nigh obsessive planning and scrupulous attention to detail. His contingencies had contingencies.

He was also the kind of guy who was good at goodbyes, in that he probably didn't usually bother to make them.

"It's a war copper from back in the day. Or, well, a forgery. The koniackers saw their opportunity and really went for it." Back in the day being the Third War. The real thing was not considered lucky in the least, all things considered, but that didn't seem relevant. Shaw was still frowning at it, rubbing it slowly with his gloved thumb in a way that made Flynn's ears burn. "Not as convincing as the Alliance-stamped gold they're churning out at the moment, but the rustic look is part of the charm. Most Kul Tirans carry one."

The corner of Shaw's mouth lifted. "Thank you for the tip," he said, but didn't pocket the coin, instead catching it up into the palm of his hand. If Flynn didn't know better, he'd say he didn't know what to do with it.

"For luck. And..." Flynn marshalled his courage. He'd decided to do this sober, which mostly cemented that doing anything without a drink in him was a fool's game. Being shit out of his own mind would have been a good excuse for doing this in the first place, or an excuse for when it went down badly, or at worst, an excuse to bottle it completely and forget the whole thing. "Maybe," he forced himself to say, "when you're on the mainland, and, you know, back to your normal life and all that—maybe it'll remind you, and you'll spare a thought for me, eh?"

There was a long silence, consisting of Shaw staring at his closed fist and Flynn subtly shifting from foot to foot.

"This would be the way of it, wouldn't it?" Shaw finally said, muttered low as though to himself. There was colour to his voice; a perplexedness that Flynn would have needled him for in any other situation.

It seemed to Flynn that, in general, Shaw did his best to not have most emotions if he could help it, and yet he'd always been easy to exasperate with a suggestive comment, well-timed or otherwise. He'd reacted so predictably every time that Flynn had assumed he was in on the joke that was Flynn's infatuation and just hadn't found it funny. 

Now, watching Shaw trying to master himself, pun maybe halfway intended, Flynn wasn't so sure. There was something quite awful about watching a man like him struggling to keep his composure.

It seemed polite to leave him to it. "Think of me now and then," Flynn said, and gave him a pat on the shoulder. "Fair winds, Shaw."

Shaw caught his arm.

"A year, I've been stationed here," he said. "A year, Flynn, and you do this to me now?"

"To be fair, you couldn't stand me for about half of that."

"That's not true," Shaw said with that controlled intensity that always came with borderline uncomfortable eye contact. He'd never needed exclamation points. Flynn did his best with it until Shaw gripped the nape of his neck and leant in.

"Oh, no," Flynn said as Shaw slid that hand under the collar of his coat instead, and kissed him. The _Redemption's_ bell rang out into the clear morning. "Well, how's that for luck."

"Almost as bad as your timing." Shaw sighed when Flynn kissed him back with gentle insistence. He knuckled his free hand gently at Flynn's jaw, the coin still tucked in his fist. He took a breath, almost spoke, then let it out. Then he took another. "Heads or tails."

Flynn drew back, searching his face, but in lieu of an explanation Shaw wordlessly flipped the coin. It flashed in the sunlight before he caught it between his palm and the back of his hand. He raised his eyebrows, waiting.

"What are the stakes here?" Flynn slowly asked.

"If you're wrong, you come with me to Stormwind for a spell," Shaw said. He looked off over the harbour for a moment, then back to Flynn. "And if you're right—well. I'm sure I could contrive some reason to stay a little longer."

"Tough wager," Flynn said, his grin suddenly out of control.

"No doubt about it. What do you say?" 

"Tails, of course."

"Of course," Shaw said aridly, but a smile played at the corner of his mouth. He lifted his hand and made a show of inspecting the penny, then looked up at Flynn, a crinkle to the corners of his eyes. "Well, Captain," he said. "Seems fortune favours us after all."


End file.
